


The Seduction of Peter Nureyev

by SpaceJackalope



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Multiple Positions, New Relationship, Other, Praise Kink, Rated E for being entirely about sex and emotions surrounding it, Romance, Rope Bondage, S3? Spaceship crime family era, Service Kink, Sexual Experimentation, Smut, With love to the Penumbra Creators Discord, gratuitous descriptions of clothing, minor boot kink, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 06:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceJackalope/pseuds/SpaceJackalope
Summary: In which Peter Nureyev is in his first relationship with someone who knows who he is, and talking about sex suddenly feels a) extremely important and b) extremely difficult. (Fortunately, he has Juno, who knows exactly what he's doing.)





	The Seduction of Peter Nureyev

**Author's Note:**

> For all y'all in the Penumbra Creators Discord nsfw channel being wise and encouraging. Horny Gregs, every one of us.

The first time, after the important words have been said (“I love you” and “There’s nothing to forgive” and “Trust me” and “Can we?” and “Damn, you’re so beautiful”), Juno makes it oh-so-easy for Peter. He takes Peter’s hand in his own and leads him to the still-sparse cabin he took when he joined the crew, and leans against the just-shut sliding door, an invitation in the lines of his body. Peter drinks him in, unable to imagine anything he’d like better.

He crowds Juno against the door, presses his palms to the lightweight wood, and brings his face just in front of Juno’s. He doesn’t touch him, lost in studying Juno’s face. Usually, they’re not this close unless the lights are off and someone’s bleeding under a gauze bandage. He has freckles, and some of his eyelashes have turned white, probably from the trauma of losing his right eye. He’s got fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which Peter wishes he felt confident calling laugh lines, and deep dimples, and pierced ears.

Peter snaps back to himself with a start. Juno gives him a sweet, amused smile, and bats his eyelashes slowly. Peter laughs—more a puff of air, really—and mouths “sorry” before kissing Juno briefly on the bridge of his broken nose, and lengthily on his mouth. Juno laces his fingers together on the back of Peter’s neck.

Juno’s manner is soft all night, eager for Peter to take the lead and happy to be delicately made a mess of. They kiss until they both have to stop to catch their breath, and proceed to have perfectly wonderful missionary-style sex, which Peter will later remember very little of. But the minute changes of Juno’s face, the joyful expression in his eyes (one glass, one original) and the way he smiles even while panting for air—those images he gathers up and locks into his heart.  

He will remember, as well, waking up with his head on Juno’s spare pillow to the realization that they had fallen asleep holding hands. Peter nuzzles closer, kisses Juno’s knuckles, and falls back into a dream.

⁂

Juno’s frying eggs and hashbrowns in the silky pajama pants Peter bought him on Susano-o. Some of the drawers and cabinets aren’t closed all the way, probably because Juno had searched through all of them for what he needed.  He’s humming quietly, face glowing in the low light of the counter tasklight and starshine through the porthole. It’s a peaceful scene, as self-contained as a snowglobe, and Peter hovers almost guiltily in the doorway, unwilling to interrupt.

“You want a job?” Juno asks, before he can slip back in the direction of Juno’s cabin, of his pants. “Or do you want to sit with me? I’m almost done.”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t _really_ know how to cook, unfortunately.” But it’s so very early, nobody is up except the two of them, and his skin itches to stay near Juno.

“Can you set a table? Turn on the ceiling light for me while you’re at it, I couldn’t find the right switch.” Peter cooperates, taking down a pair of blue calico plates and some of the confusing mugs the ship has acquired. (“Yama’s Sexiest Beekeeper!” and “Hyperion City Arsonists Appreciate _You_!”). He pulls out flatware and napkins with minimal fuss, and microwaves them both some tea.

Peter’s brain is calculating. Would Juno prefer it if Peter buttoned his shirt? Which, he remembers with a blush, is actually Juno’s shirt, a warm plaid button-up he picked up off the bedroom floor. Juno sets a plate in front of him, and smirks. “Soft, huh?”

Peter leans back in his chair so he can openly check out Juno’s ass. “Very. Sugar?”

“Yeah—” Juno hesitates, stumbles, “—darling?” The question is more centered on seeking approval for “darling” as a pet name than on asking for clarification. Peter is charmed. (He’s charmed a lot lately.)

“I meant in your tea.” He grins. “But ‘darling’ is good.”

Juno chuckles darkly. “No, I don’t take sugar in tea or coffee.”

Peter feels his eyes widen slightly. “Oh! We do have a coffee maker, would you rather…?” Juno waves him off.

They eat quietly, still feeling sleepy and, in Peter’s case, uncertain. The last time he had post-sex breakfast, it was room service eggs Benedict with a jewelry fence who called him “ _mon cher_ ” and subsequently tried to garotte him. He’s a little unsure of the etiquette. He watches Juno’s face, catches Juno watching him, sees his face turn serious.

“Juno,” he croons, before realizing he can’t flirt his way out of this. “Did-did I do something wrong?”

Juno puts his fork down firmly, surprised. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Peter twists his mouth. “I just feel like something’s off. Last night…” he trails off, partly because he doesn’t know where that sentence is going, and partly because Juno’s eyes go _soft_ and private, and he really wants to just bask in that for a bit.

“Last night was fun for me,” Juno soothes, slipping his hand into Peter’s.

“Great. Good.” He knew that, but. _But_.

“What’s wrong, Nureyev?”

“I haven’t been able to get you to stop _thinking_.” He’s embarrassed by his own frustration. “I’m sorry, it’s petty. You just keep making a face like…I’m sorry.”

Juno kisses Peter’s hand, gives him a patiently intractable _look_. “Words, Nureyev.” A small pause, and then: “It’s just me. It’s just us.”

Peter exhales slowly. “You keep looking at me like you’re doing _math_.” He couldn’t say exactly why he was so concerned that would offend Juno, but it very much has not; Juno’s laughing, loud and open. He leans across the table and kisses Peter’s mouth. They break the kiss, hover near each other’s faces, and kiss again.

“I guess you’re not too far off,” Juno tells him softly, still close. “I’m trying to work out how we fit together. Just normal new boyfriend stuff.” Peter hasn’t been a boyfriend before, new or otherwise. He smiles happily, the thought melting into his chest. Juno pulls away and finishes his potatoes. Peter leans his chin on one hand and admires Juno’s collarbones.

“Hey, Nureyev?” Juno begins, running water to wash the dishes. Peter sips at the last of his tea, pleased to realize he feels secure enough to read the leaves when he’s done without worrying what Juno will think of him.

“Mmm, hello, Detective Steel.”

“How do you describe yourself, sexually?”

Peter stares blankly at him. “I’m...gay? Gay.” He isn’t sure where this is going. He knows Juno is, vaguely speaking, a lady of X gender, and Peter _thinks_ he’s made it clear that he means gay in an expansive and appreciative way.

Juno nods, seems like he’s waiting for more. “Yeah, ok. But like. Topness, bottomness, strangeness, and charm?”

 _Oh._ He doesn’t get asked that a lot. Usually because he makes a preference clear up-front. “I’m flexible.” Easy one.

“Kinky?”

“Sure?” Is Juno? Almost definitely. But does Juno like that in a partner? It’s gotta be yes, right, or he wouldn’t have asked. But—it’s Juno. Whom he is currently dating. He can just _ask_ , so he does.

“Oh, _I’m_ a verse sub, really kinky, and bi. Go back a sec.” He puts the tea towel down and returns to the chair across from Peter. “‘Sure,’ with an obvious question mark, isn’t a _great_ way to talk about your sex life, Nureyev. What do you _like_?”

He laughs in surprise and gives Juno a reassuring smile. “Almost everything. If _you_ like it, don’t worry, I’m up for it.”     

Juno tilts his head. “So you’ve said.”

Peter reaches out and touches Juno’s face, tracing a thumb over his forehead. “What’s going on in your head? Are you usually this inquisitive with a new partner?”

“If I’m hoping for long-term, I am.” His cheeks and ears are turning pink, under the warm brown of his skin. He’s exquisite. Peter’s heart squeezes.

“Well, sweetie,” (no, too cutesy) “I’m not complicated.” Juno gives him a _look_ again, trying not to laugh. Fair. It’s a fucking lie. “…In bed,” Peter amends. “I just like pleasing you.”

Juno flicks a stray dread away from his face. “See, I can’t work out whether that’s because you’re _really_ dominant, or _really_ submissive. Maybe I’m being reductive.” He sighs. “I need to get ready to go planetside. Will you be here when I get back?”

“I’ll be free as a bird early in the afternoon. I’m at your disposal tonight.” Juno’s mouth curves wickedly, very pleased. “I’ll get us take-out,” Peter promises.

He actually thinks Juno might not be being simplistic _enough_. He thinks about following him to the cabin where he’s dressing, wrapping his arms around him, and whispering into his neck: _my sexual preference is you, you, you._ But he’s deeply frightened of coming on too strong, so he does not. 

⁂

“I’m going to fuck you breathless,” Peter promises, before licking the side of Juno’s neck. He’s straddling Juno’s waist, arms braced on either side of his head. Juno is shaking, eyes closed, hands on Peter’s ribs. “You’ll be so sweet and messy for me, I bet I can make you come twice. May I try, Juno darling?”

Juno groans happily. “Fuck. Yeah, that’d be—” his eyes snap open, and a look of amusement flickers over his face briefly. “Yes, let’s do that.” His face is more composed now, and still amused.

“What?”

“I was just trying to remember when we ended up in this position.”

Well. Oops. “Oh. You said you wanted to top me,” Peter replies, sheepish.

Juno kisses Peter’s face. “Shush. This is amazing, we can keep doing this.”

“We can switch! You wanted—”

Juno rolls his left eye. And then he rolls his hips, to remind Peter he’s still hard. “Stop trying to guess what I want, Nureyev. I’ve told you, I want either. But dammit, I _want._ Are you just trying to please me, or is wrecking my ass what you felt most like doing tonight?” Juno folds his hands casually across his stomach.

Peter feels unmoored. He wants Juno, and Juno wants…but Juno wants him not to guess. He didn’t really have a conscious plan when he started talking, it just seemed like it’d be fun. It _would_ be good. But then he thinks, with a jolt, of Juno straddling him, still looking at him with that cool, patient stare, and his skin burns. “Could—actually. Would you please fuck me breathless, Juno?”

Juno flips them wordlessly, firmly spreading Peter flat against the mattress. He licks along Peter’s neck in a mirror of their position moments before. “You want me to open you up, Nureyev? Get you off on my fingers? Take you and watch you fall apart all over again?”

“Yes—yeah, Juno do that, fuck me.” He’s sure his face is beet red. He bravely resists turning into the pillow to hide. He pants, “Have your way with me.”

Juno cups his face in both hands, kissing his forehead. His eyes are gentle, and perhaps slightly—not sad, not pitying. Protective. He moves away to grab lube, and Peter takes advantage of the moment to suck in some cold air and get _over_ himself.

When Juno returns, Peter gives him a teasing smile, full of teeth, and rolls onto his stomach. Juno’s fingers, slick and sure, are much warmer than he expected. He’s touched (emotionally speaking). It’s just nice to be cared for. He begs a little for a second finger, notes how Juno breathes heavier when he does, begs a _lot_ when he’s ready for a third. Juno curls his fingers just right, and Peter gasps. “ _There_.”

Juno must have leaned forward, because he plants a warm kiss on Peter’s ass, teeth catching just slightly. He synchs them up, his fingers and his mouth, giving a kiss, nip, or lick with every press against Peter’s sweet spot. Peter’s arms are already shaking. When he comes, he falls forward, accidentally whacking his forehead solidly against his radius. When he returns to himself, Juno is kissing his face.

“Are you hurt, baby?” Juno pauses. “I don’t think you’re a ‘baby’ person.”

Peter chuckles. “Agreed. No, I feel great. Phase two?” He sounds a little plaintive. He wants to catch his breath. He wants to be fucked before he has the chance to. He wants Juno to mess him up. He wants to be kissed like he’s made of glass. And he _really_ wants to make Juno _come_.

Juno studies him for a minute. “What position would you like, Peter?”

Peter lays his face against the pillow, presents his ass. He imagines serving his ass to Juno on a silver platter, breaks into a fit of giggles. Juno giggles with him, sliding his fingers easily back inside. Peter’s glad he put his face against the pillow when Juno’s cock slides into him. Not because of the cock—that just feels warm and thick and _good_ , but by itself it’s not likely to startle him. No, he’s overcome because Juno rubs a comforting hand along his spine, whispering “Breathe for me, my love.” Peter breathes, because Juno asked him to. He feels light, like he could float off the bed if Juno wasn’t at his back, solid and strong. He’s as discomposed as promised, quickly unable to form complete words. But with the bits of his brain still observing, still collecting data on Juno in pleasure, he cries out extra loud when Juno’s noises heighten in intensity. He comes again, also as promised, but not until he knows Juno is falling apart beautifully, voice cracking.

He insists on making Juno let him clean up, knees wobbly and body fairly glowing with contentedness. Juno holds him under the covers afterwards, strokes his hair and questions him. “Are you glad that’s what we did in the end?”

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.”

Juno hums, sounding flattered and happy. “What was your favorite part?”

If Peter were more alert, he’d have noticed the question beneath the question. But he’s ready to fall into sleep, so he doesn’t. “Oh—that I got to do it with you.” Juno’s hand stills, just for a second, before resuming its course and sending Peter gently into darkness.

⁂

Peter lets the spoonful of blackberry ice cream slide down his throat, but he forgets to take the spoon out of his mouth, too busy turning over Juno’s suggestion in his mind.

“It’s okay if you’re not into it,” Juno tells him, voice casual, hand squeezing Peter’s knee. They’re in the cockpit, Juno in the co-pilot’s seat. They can see the sun just beginning to rise over Akra.

Peter carefully withdraws the spoon, returns it to the tub in Juno’s hand. “Sweetheart, I would _love_ to blindfold you and say filthy things.”

Juno grins back, his nose crinkling. Peter’s heart is racing and his head is buzzing. This is new, trying kink with Juno, and Peter kind of wants to retreat to his own room to flop onto his bed and giggle like he’d been asked to a school dance in a teen romcom stream. His toes wiggle.

“The comms light is blinking,” Juno sighs.

Peter swallows his excitement and answers, voice artificially calm. He slips into Christopher Morales, who’s _never_ flustered. “This is IFO Fonteyn, Capitaine Reynard speaking. Proceed.”

“Szabo speaking,” Buddy replies. “Sécurité. Switchblade and I have been detained. Unexpected opening with Damask. Will return to Fonteyn no earlier than 06:00. We will go off-grid at 20:00, stand-by will not be required after. Over.”

“Roger. Can you confirm status of Zephyr and Chickadee? Over.”    

“Contact made at 19:00, all is well. They will return with us. Status on Fonteyn? Over.”

“Arinna and I are just peachy! Over.”

“Right. Use protection, darling,” she shoots back, voice sugar-sweet. “Over and out.”

Peter hangs up. Juno hands him his spoon. His jacket’s covering the clock on the instrument panel, when did that happen? Peter inches in its direction, but Juno catches his eye and leans his elbow on top of it.

“Need something, hon?”

“Of course not, Juno, I was just going to ask if you wanted more coffee,” Peter lies. He must make _some_ face, despite his efforts, because Juno laughs and takes pity on him.

“About half an hour. Think you can wait that long?”

Peter sniffs. “I will stand for no aspersions on my stamina, detective.”

“Even if I came and sat on your lap?”

He wants to say yes. But. Well, he knows his limits. “If Buddy calls back and we sound flustered, I will _genuinely_ die of embarrassment.” He mock-shudders.

“I’m sure the time will fly by,” Juno, veteran of probably hundreds of stakeouts, tells him reassuringly.

(It does not.)

⁂

He has Juno kneeling on the bed, underwear and old band t-shirt still on, and the softest scarf Peter owns tied around his eyes. Peter has an array of containers lined up on the top of Juno’s low bookshelf. He dips two fingers in a glass jar. “Open, Juno,” he orders, and Juno presents his tongue, delicately closes his mouth around Peter’s fingers. Peter slides the pads of his fingertips across his tongue a little. “You may swallow,” he says, and Juno sucks and swallows, and Peter shivers and pulls free. Juno’s lower lip is shiny with spit now, right in the center.

“Honey,” Juno says.

“Yes dear?” Peter teases.

Juno laughs, and probably rolls his eye. “Honey, it was honey, _please_ may I have my reward?”

Peter pretends to think about it. “ _Well_ , since you’re _so_ clever…” And he kisses Juno, slides his tongue inside and licks the last of the flavor from his mouth. Juno clutches his shoulders and moans happily. Peter grabs his hips, a little more roughly than he meant to, and uses his thumbs to rub little circles into the high points.

Juno breaks the kiss to inhale more fully. “More, touch me more.” His voice is sweet and uncommanding. Peter pulls Juno’s shirt off.

He presents his fingers again, this time with marshmallow fluff on them. “Tasty,” Juno flirts, when his mouth is empty. “Marshmallow, right?” Peter kisses confirmation against his jaw. Juno reaches out, finds and caresses Peter’s chest. “Love, I need…” Peter pushes Juno onto his back, stealing his breath for a moment.

“Okay, Juno?”

“More than okay.”

Peter straddles his hips and kisses him for a bit, before finding the lube and pulling Juno’s underwear off. Juno pops his knees up, spreads his thighs. “Oh my beauty,” Peter coos. “If _only_ you could see yourself.” Juno wiggles. Peter traces his rim with a slick finger. He kisses the inside of Juno’s thigh and purrs. He talks for a little while about how pretty Juno is, how tight and warm and good. He slides a finger in and Juno, shivering and panting, reaches out for Peter’s face. Peter angles his head to make it easier. Juno finds and taps Peter’s mouth.

“Rougher,” Juno pleads.  Peter responds with a nod and a sharp quirk of the fingers (two of them, now) inside Juno, but Juno shakes his head. “Nnn.”

Peter stills. “Are you alright, Juno?”

Juno nods enthusiastically. “Just…talk rougher?”

Peter’s confidence falters a little. “Can you give me an example?”

Juno squirms, lets his arms fall back to the bed with a dramatic flop. “ _Peterrrrr_ , stop teasing.”

Peter laughs, he can’t help it. “I’m not _trying_ to be difficult, my darling.”

Juno laughs with him. “Tell me I’m a filthy slut,” he suggests.

Peter jolts with something that’s probably excitement. Okay, he can do that. “Glady, _Ju_ no, my pretty slut, you’re filthy, gorgeous, do you do this with everyone or just me?”

“Bet you can ruin me for anyone else,” Juno flirts.

Peter’s throat tightens with emotion. “There’s a shortage of perfect asses in the world. It would be such a pity to deprive the world of yours. But if you _insist_.” He slicks a third finger, slides it in.

“Well, I’m glad you’re making friends with Rita—oh! Ohhhh, _Peter_.” He makes a frantic _talk_ motion with one hand, tapping thumb to fingers. “Tell—tell me what I look like?”

Divine, Peter does not say. He wants to gather Juno up and shower him with flower petals, make him come laughing, and wrap him in a cashmere throw and Peter’s own arms afterwards. That isn’t what Juno needs tonight, however, and Peter just wants him to be happy. He wants Juno to be _so happy_. “You look _wrecked_ , you’re so _needy_ it’s obscene…” He’s still being too gentle, too warm in his choice of words. He pushes what he _wants_ to say to the side and, almost on autopilot, talks in a vein more like he thinks Juno requested. It feels like he’s watching from far away, outside of his body.  

Juno shudders pleasantly, but then tension bleeds into what’s visible of his face. “Yeehaw.”

Peter feels like his consciousness pours back into his body, and the sudden heat and pressure knocks the wind out of him. He tries to shift out of and off of Juno, but Juno has already removed the blindfold. He steadies Peter with hands on his shoulders, takes over the work of separating the two of them. Their hands meet in the space between their chests and tangle together. “Juno, are you hurt? Was it too much? I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m so _so_ sorry, I…” and Juno gives him a warm, worried look and pulls Peter tight. He feels Juno’s hand brushing hair out of his face, and a light kiss on his forehead. Someone’s shaking, but it isn’t Juno, which means…oh. Oh.

“Shh, shhh, it’s alright,” Juno promises. “I’ve got you.” Juno’s rocking their tangled bodies gently.

Peter’s finding breathing a little difficult. He takes a deep inhalation, hears himself sniffle, and realizes he’s been crying, is still crying. “I don’t…how long have I been…? I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Don’t be, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You started right after I took the scarf off, I think. Shh, just let yourself come down, I’m gonna take care of you. It’s alright. Everything’s alright.”

“Was trying to take care of _you_.”

“Mm, yeah, it was great. Your turn, now.”

“I don’t even know _why_ —”

“These things happen. We’ll talk about it, but I want your breath to even out before we even think about getting into it, okay?”

Peter nods and lets himself go limp against Juno.

⁂

When Peter has calmed, showered, and been surprised with a cup of hot cider, he sits cross-legged on Juno’s bed. “I want to talk about it.”

Juno has started painting his own toenails. He looks up at Peter and smiles. “Go for it.”

“I was thinking, while I was in the shower. I don’t believe that’s ever happened to me before, and I cannot fathom why it did now. With you. I like sex with you better than any I’ve had before, and this is...”

“Upsetting?”

“Rather.”

Juno shrugs carefully. “Dropping isn’t always easy to suss out. Sometimes it just…happens.”

“Dropping? There’s a name for…whatever that was?”

Juno looks at him in alarm. “You told me you’d done”—he waves a hand abstractly—“this kind of play before.”

“Not this exact combination, but none of it was new to me. Why?”

“BDSM is not a good area to fly by the seat of your pants, Nureyev.” Peter gives him an affronted look. “I’m not mad at you, someone should’ve…” he makes a helpless shrug. “Cared for you better.”

Peter raises one eyebrow at him, and immediately feels more like himself. “Very well, O Goddess of Wisdom, tell on.”

Juno’s dimples deepen, and then the solemn look is back. “Ok, so: dropping. It’s when you’ve been in a scene”—he pauses and looks at Peter, who nods. He knows that one. “And your hormones are like, all hopped up and happy, and then something changes—or you just run out of spoons, hit a limit, whatever—and you…” he snaps his fingers.

“Crash?”

“Pretty much.”

“I think—I really was enjoying it, I didn’t _notice_ feeling bad? Until after you’d pointed it out, I suppose.” Juno finishes his nails and screws the cap back on. “Juno?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Would you do mine?”

“Of course!” He puts the box closer to Peter. “Pick whatever you want.” Juno’s, still drying, are a sunny yellow. Peter puts his mug down carefully and looks through the bottles. “So,” Juno says, stretching, “from what I could tell, it seemed like you were having a good time, and then you…stopped being Peter Nureyev. And then once you _were_ again, whatever you were trying to put on the back burner all spilled onto your shirt.”

Peter is angry for a fraction of a second, a cornered-animal response. Which is odd, considering how desperately he wants to strip down to his beating heart and raw nerves and recline on a chaise lounge for Juno to _look_ his fill. “Oh,” he says, simply, suddenly bone-tired. His fingers have closed around a bottle of deep rose nail polish. “This one, please.” Juno smiles sweetly at him and takes it.

They are restfully silent for a few minutes. “I think,” Peter says slowly, “I think I know why I—why I dropped.” Juno says nothing, is patient. “I don’t want to say such mean things to you again,” Peter admits, around a shaky laugh.  

Juno briefly caps the nail polish so he can squeeze Peter’s free hand, the one that doesn’t hold the mug. “Ok. We won’t. For the record— _I_ didn’t feel like you were being mean, but I understand why it…why it wasn’t good for you. Thank you for telling me.”

Juno, Peter reflects, says “thank you” a lot. Until now, he’d thought the subtext to it was _stay with me_ , but now he realizes it’s _I’m not leaving you_. He’s been so focused on wanting to show Juno love, he’s been downplaying Juno’s efforts to nurture _him._    

“I love you a lot,” he says, the words still new and fragile.

Juno gives him a gentle peck on the mouth. “Love you back.” He uncaps the bottle and finishes Peter’s toes while Peter finishes his drink.

“I like you taking care of me,” Peter admits. “I’m not used to it. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Pleasure’s all mine.” Juno shifts to snuggle against Peter. “We should do yes/no/maybe lists.”

“What’s that?” Peter’s feeling soft and sleepy.

Juno brushes his lips against Peter’s ear. “It’s…sexy… _paperwork_.”

⁂

“So what you’re gonna do is mark whatever you think’s most accurate. You can do checkmarks, or write notes about conditions, or if you don’t know what it is, or. Yeah.” It’s a longer list than Peter expected. “Also, I didn’t make this list, so don’t take it as requests. And don’t try to guess what I’m answering. We’ll compare, just…later.” A few days have passed, and they’re once again taking advantage of being the only ones awake to talk about sex while making breakfast.

Peter skims the first page without real intent. “I’ve done something like this before. When I make new aliases, I think about what they might like.”

Juno looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Are you telling me,” he says slowly, not really managing to suppress the laugh, “that if I’d had sex with you the first time we met, we’d have done _different_ stuff?”

Peter shrugs. “Maybe? Earlier in the job, yes. Later—no. You’d have gotten me, I think. But that’s speculation. You’re the only one who’s ever _had_ Peter Nureyev.”

Juno looks up at him through his eyelashes. “You should’ve told me I was signing your v-card. I’d’ve made it a special occasion.” And then he remembers that their first time was the time he left, and stammers out an apology.

Peter kisses him to shut him up. “We’ve been over that already,” he explains. “Anyway, it’s a lovely sentiment, Juno.”

They hold hands in silence for a moment.

Juno clears his throat. “There’s something else I want you to do for me.” His voice has gone velvet with promise, and Peter fights an urge to fidget. Juno has the confidence of experience when it comes to sex. It does wonderful things to Peter’s stomach. He knows he projects confidence, too, but that’s just because…well, he isn’t sure he knows how to turn it _off_. It’d be nice to try sometime, with Juno. He’ll put that on the list. 

“Of course, dear heart.”

Juno makes sure their eyes are meeting. “I want you to give me advice about how I should seduce a mark. The mark being you.”

“I—whatever for?”

“Because I think you could stand to be more selfish. And because I think you think about sex in terms of _enjoyment_ , sure, but you don’t ever approach it as something _fun_.”

Peter makes a decidedly unsexy grunt sound, deep in his throat. “I think you understated how very _difficult_ you are.” It comes out vulnerable, grateful.

“I know,” Juno agrees warmly.

⁂

Juno comes back from a job with Jet and Peter can’t quite mask his shock: he’s wearing the suit Peter bought him when they robbed the Utgard Express, patterned with red and pink flowers. Peter never dreamed he’d have kept it. It’s not as nice as it once was, of course, but it’s been carefully repaired and cleaned, and he’s worn a lacy top and an elegant, delicate choker of leather cord. _“Well…you’d dress up, maybe in something I got you, and I’d know it was just for me…”_ He gives Peter an intimate smile when nobody’s looking. Peter leans over to whisper in his ear. “Come to my cabin?”

They meet outside the door. Juno lets Peter take his hand and draw him inside with an over-formal gesture, like he’s escorting a debutante.

“This is nice,” Juno says, voice low. “I didn’t expect the plants.” Peter has a nice assortment these days; he likes watching them bloom and change. He’s arranged them by color, so that if they were to bloom at the same time (which they never will), they’d form an unbroken rainbow.

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t been here before.”

“Mm. Well. I’m here now.”

“So you are.” Peter brings the toes of his shoes to meet the toes of Juno’s boots. Juno tips his chin up and back, for Peter to pepper the edge of his jaw with kisses. He curls one arm around Juno’s waist and leads him, like they’re slow dancing, in the direction of the bed. Peter stops kissing Juno when they reach it, twirls him under his arm, and pushes Juno’s chest so that he falls, laughing, onto the quilt. “ _You’d let me, oh, take care of you. Like I’m your, your knight? Don’t laugh.” “I’m not laughing.”_

Juno makes an attempt to pose enticingly. He loses his balance a little, which, if Peter’s being honest, makes it more effective. Peter leans a hand against the nearest bedpost and gives Juno a wicked grin. “Why, Detective Steel, you can’t possibly be comfortable in all those clothes. I think I’ll have to insist I give you a hand.”

Juno fakes a pensive pout. “Well, if you _insist_.” Peter kneels in front of him, takes one vinyl-booted foot in his hands.

“These clothes really do look splendid on you,” he says. “Can’t wait to see what they look like on the floor.” Juno laughs at him, which Peter feels is fair enough.     

He teases Juno for a bit, sliding his hands along his calves, warming the smooth vinyl. But before long, he turns his attention the ribbon laces running up the outer sides of the boots, loosening them with steady fingers and easing the boots off Juno’s legs. Juno’s already going pink and dimply. Peter unfastens Juno’s jacket, slides it off his shoulders, and hangs it up. (“Not the floor after all?” Juno teases. “What a nerd.” Peter sticks his tongue out at him.)

He sits beside Juno, gently frames his face with his hands, and sticks his tongue down Juno’s throat. Juno moans and gives a contented shiver. Peter slides his hands down Juno’s body, lingering over the heat of his chest. His thumb catches the metal of Juno’s piercings under his thin shirt, and he breaks the kiss. “This next,” he whispers, and Juno lifts his arms cooperatively.

The shirt does land on the floor.

Peter focuses on Juno’s chest for a long time, licking, stroking, kissing. _“And…I’d worship you, I suppose.” “Not very selfish of you, Nureyev.” “Oh, you have no idea how selfishly I want to be thorough with you.”_  Eventually, Juno makes an especially beautiful sound of desperation, so Peter undresses them both the rest of the way, cuddles him close, and strokes their cocks together with a slick hand until they both fall apart.

Juno looks _very_ pleased with himself when Peter steps into the shower with him. “That seemed pretty successful.”

“Every time with you I think, oh _this_ is the best, nothing could be better. But I think it might actually be true this time.”

Juno’s smile deepens. “Don’t jump the gun, Nureyev.”

_“Anyway, that’s scenario one.” “How many scenarios do you have?”_

⁂

Peter opens his door to find Juno lounging on the bed. He’s wearing tight black velvet jeans and a wine-colored sheer bralette, and the expression of a cat with a dish of cream.

“Oh, hello,” Peter manages.

“Hey,” Juno returns, voice even.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Take your clothes off, Nureyev.”

Peter swallows and blushes. “Okay.”

_“You’re so **bossy** sometimes.” “That sounded almost like a compliment.” “Oh, it is.”_

Peter’s wearing so many _layers_ , why did Juno pick the night he’d worn a three-piece suit? (Foolish question; he looks _really fuckable_ in this suit.) He could make this a show, ease off each piece slowly, but he’s already thrown off the overcoat and suit jacket, and he’s started on the vest. _“I’d let myself stop thinking—not difficult, when you’re around—” “Awww.” “And I’d try to just…show you my hunger.”_

Juno’s watching with obvious satisfaction, touching himself through the front of his pants while Peter fumbles through the row of mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt. Pants, socks, underwear are easier, and Peter feels a rush of accomplishment when he kicks the pile to one side and meets Juno’s eyes. Juno is silent for a moment, looking him up and down. Peter knows he’s turning red all over, can feel his ears burning. He fights an impulse to hide his face in his hands before he remembers he’s not trying to act _suave_ tonight, and lets himself do it. His palms feel cool against his cheeks.

“Give me a color, Peter?”

He half-laughs. “Oh, green, very very green. I…I’m feeling a _lot_. May I have more?”

Juno laughs, fully. “Absolutely.” There’s a soft _whump_ noise, and Peter drops his hands to see the pillow Juno’s thrown to the floor. He gives Peter a sympathetic smile. “Kneel, darling.” Peter doesn’t need to be told twice.

Juno stands in front of him, waist even with Peter’s face. His mouth waters. _“I like the idea of you thrusting into my mouth. I don’t usually let people do it, but I want to try it with you.”_

“If this is too much,” Juno tells him, “or if you just need an adjustment, I want you to grab my wrist and I’ll let you talk, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Juno. Um…” Juno strokes his hair patiently, which amuses Peter. “Very appropriate,” he murmurs. “Would you pull it, a little?”

“Sure.” Juno pulls it now, before they go further, establishing how hard Peter likes it.

And then he unfastens those wonderful velvet jeans and slides into Peter’s open mouth.

He was right: he _does_ like this, when it’s Juno doing it. He’s thrusting shallowly, with just enough force, and stroking or pulling his hair by turns. Peter’s brain quiets.

“Peter.”

“Mmmm?”

“Do you want me to come in your mouth?”

Peter catches Juno’s wrist in reply, and Juno slides out. Peter squirms. He’s so _hard_ , and he wants… “On my face?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Whatever you like.” Juno holds him still with a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, and strokes himself. Peter catches the tip with a light kiss, which makes Juno come gasping. Peter grins, delighted. When Juno’s eyes open, he looks at Peter and curses, awe-struck, and Peter laughs with his whole body, which makes Juno look at him like he’s all the stars in the sky.

“Shall I clean you off?” Juno offers, brushing his hair back tenderly.

“Mmm, my turn first?”

“’Kay, yeah.” Juno sounds dazed. His knees are shaking a little, but he helps Peter stand and move to the bed.

 _“You’d give me so many hickeys, all along my neck. I love getting them, I want to see them in the mirror and remember.”_ _“Not your neck, I think. Too many shipmates.”_

Juno kiss-bites along Peter’s clavicle and sends him over the edge with a steady, gentle hand.  

They share a bath this time, and Peter nearly falls asleep with contentedness.

“That was more intense than I expected. How are you doing?” Juno asks him.

“Wonderful. I feel good. Perhaps a little weightless.”

“Are you floating?”

“Ye—no. Not in a kink way, I just feel dreamy.”

“Mmm, good, I think you’re pretty dreamy, too.”

Peter flicks water at him.   

_“Mm, sounds hot.” “I have one more.” “Okay, shoot.”_

⁂

“I’m really excited about this,” Juno says, bouncing onto Peter’s bed and pulling off his sweater.

“Me too,” Peter calls, searching through his makeup box in the en-suite for the color he wants.

_“Right, so this is scenario three…”_

“It’s been too long since I’ve done rope bondage, it feels _so good_.” Peter finds what he was looking for, tucks them into his garter, and steps into the main room. Juno, pulling his pants off, freezes mid-motion and stares at him. His eyes flick from the garter on Peter’s thigh, up to the green leather harness, down to the soft cotton boyshorts he’d found to match, up again, to Peter’s face and his immaculate eyeliner. “Oh,” Juno breathes. “ _Hello_.”

“Hel _lo_ , Juno.”

Juno arches his back prettily, kicks his pants off. “Like, I know what’s going to happen here, but I’m still kinda feeling underdressed, Nureyev.”

Peter cackles happily. “Oh don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of you.”

“You always do,” Juno agrees. “How do you want me?”

“Take off your underwear and kneel up for me?” Peter pulls the silk rope he’d bought out of his blanket chest and grins. He’d picked it out just for Juno, and now that he’s got them in the same room, he’s glad he got a berry-colored skein.

“Oh, that’s _pretty_ ,” Juno coos, reading his mind.

_“I keep imagining tying you up, holding you open.” “Well that’s lucky. I keep imagining that, too.”_

They start with Juno’s legs, lacing his thighs to his calves. Peter hasn’t done this tie before, but Juno has, so they do it together. Juno was right, it’s _fun_ , both of them giggling. Turned on with no urgency. Peter follows the leg ties with a star-shaped pattern over Juno’s chest, with a little help, and a simple tie to put his arms folded behind his back.

“Thoughts, my dear?” He caresses Juno’s cheek.

Juno nuzzles into his hand. “I think you’re doing a great job. And I love you lots. Annnnd I want you to kiss me.” Peter complies. Juno tastes like pomegranate juice.

_“You really like making me look pretty, huh?” “You’re always pretty.” “Mm, but still.” “Still. Yes, a lot.”_

“Now, then,” Peter says. “If you’re sitting comfortably…” Peter pulls the eyeliner and lipstick he picked out from his garter. Juno makes a happy sound, and Peter catches his chin with thumb and forefinger, just enough to prompt him to hold still. He does the hard part first, lining Juno’s eyes in gold. Juno struggles a little to cooperate, but manages it. Peter kisses his temple and tells him “ _Good.”_ The lipstick is burgundy and goes on like silk.

He brings Juno a pocket mirror, smiles as Juno blushes and vamps a little at his reflection. “Tell me how you look, Juno.”

Juno struggles a little, crinkles his nose shyly. “I look _really_ pretty. Thank you, Peter.”

Peter smiles fondly—“Anytime”—and exchanges the mirror for the lube in his drawer. Juno flashes him a grin of anticipation, and watches—so closely, like it’s as important as breathing—while Peter pulls off his boyshorts and sinks a finger into himself.

_“I’d prop you up with pillows, and you’d watch while I fingered myself. And…and then I’d ride you. I don’t want to say I’d **use** you, that sounds wrong, but…” “I vote we go with ‘use me’. I can be all yours, for a little while. It’s okay, I know you’ll set me loose again.” _

Juno lets out a pleased little half-scream when Peter finally slides onto his lap, and tips his head forward to rest on Peter’s shoulder.  

“Mmm, hello,” Peter whispers.

Juno kisses at Peter’s shoulder. “Hi, Nureyev.”

Peter wraps his arms around Juno’s shoulders and sighs like he’s come home after a long day. They hit a feverish point together, Juno’s forehead breaking into a fine sweat. Peter cradles his face. On a whim, he drags one thumb across Juno’s lip, smearing his makeup. Juno jolts and comes, pulling Peter after him.

They curl together with Juno’s skull against Peter’s heart. “Juno?”

“Mm-hm?”

“Being with you…I feel like I’ve been inhabiting my body, more than I ever have before. So thank you for that, for being so…”

“Making you feel a lot?” Juno offers, the words rolling off his tongue as though he’s thought about them a lot. (He probably has).

“Exactly that, love.”

“Mmm. I’m glad I can. You make me feel a lot, too.”

“Juno…”

“Shh. Sleep time.”

He dreams he is a singular, unrecognizable creature, but in the dream Juno embraces him and calls him beautiful anyway, so it’s alright.

**Author's Note:**

> "Mx. SpaceJackalope, why did you pick 'Yeehaw' as their safeword?"  
> I'm so glad you asked! Doyleist explanation: it made me laugh. Watsonian explanation: it made Juno laugh.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as cartograffiti, and on Pillowfort as Jackalope!


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